Best Medicine
by CraftyNotepad
Summary: Before you can treat, there needs to be a proper diagnosis.  Gee, that would be a great summary for Phil and Keely Play Doctor. This one's about RL, however.


Disclaimer: I own Phil of the Future - wait, is that a typo?

A/N: For one whom RL tries to make weary.

A/N: If you haven't checked it out yet, do so. Boris Yeltsin has revised his "Phil Diffy, Babysitter."

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Best Medicine

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"Aw, carrot cake! We're never going to finish this assignment for Mr. Messerschmitt by Friday, Phil! It's hopeless. Don't you have some future gadget that'll help? PLeeeze? It's getting late and I'm beat."

"Well ..." Phil found denying her anything nearly impossible, from satisfying her immediate cravings for Dutch pastries, to letting Keely use his Instamorph to pose as some former Disney-kid-star-turned-rock-star-turned-actress-again-maybe in order to get a secret investigative interview. Something about her frown incited the urge within him to do whatever it took to turn those lips of hers upside-down. It had become reflex now, he suddenly realized, finding his hand already inside his backpack reaching for an ultra sophisticated piece of 22nd Century techno wonder, and, although his hand rummage around, he hadn't yet taken hold of anything, yet.

There was his Wizrd, certainly; it was his next century pocket knife, of sorts, able to deal with most challenges, even in these halcyon days of the early 21st Century. Handling more specific tasks, he could draw upon the abilities of other gear, such as his homework helmet, which could process all this data before them and spit it out, complete with structures and writing styles melting even Mr. Adelaide Messerschmitt's cold heart. It could actually have him weeping with joy, instead of disgust, over one of the returned assignments from his students for the first time in his monotoned career. Then again, Phil could pull from his backpack a couple of Temporal Elastic Bands. With those, they could stretch out the time for just the two of them so seconds could seem like hours; surely it would be a lark to finish this assignment then, and without her tears, with time to spare for both of them to relax and enjoy their victory together.

"'Well,' what? You have something, don't ya?" Oh her bed, Keely was practically bouncing with excitement. Instant remedies for what ails her, courtesy of Phil and the century he once called home.

The woven temporal filaments of the Bands ran between his fingers, humming. Could she hear them? Pulsating, they encouraged Phil to use them. What could be the harm? They weren't dangerous, just a couple of parts he had pulled from the Skyak his sister had crashed. Working in conjunction with one another, a series of these chrono wonders allowed the flying machine to seem to be incredibly fast and powerful, distorting time so the engines, while pouring out thrust for hours, only appeared to its rider, as well as observers on the ground, to have been running for less than a minute. Two of the Bands would make Keely's life so much less stressful, and making Keely happy, becoming her hero, was attractive, inviting, and seductive. Phil felt them again, pulsating in his hand. He pulled them out. Keely seemed unimpressed.

"Well, this project is huge, I know. Keels, it isn't going away, and killing ourselves working until dawn? We won't have anything left to finish it up with tomorrow. I do have a solution. Let's not. Let's go to bed, instead. A good night's sleep and we'll both be rested and ready to tackle this, together." He was ready to stretch one of the Bands first over his wrist, then do the same for Keely. He just needed to hear her answer. He watched her eyes, then studied her lips ...

"Mom always says 'sleep is the best medicine.' I never thought it would be the cure for homework, but, okay, 'Dr. Phil,' I'll try anything once."

They gathered up their books, revealing Keely's orange bedspread once more. Phil slipped the Bands into his shirt pocket, his books wedged into his backpack. There was their practiced platonic wishes of good night along with a see-you-in-the-morning which seemed to hint of something more. Smiles exchanged and then Phil was gone. Though his bag was heavier with books, he felt lighter. Using power was not always the best decision just because one can. Sometimes the best medicine was the simplest. Besides, he grinned, Dad had given him until Monday to rebuild the damaged Skyak, and Keely would be glad when their Friday's report was turned in. She'd probably hug him, like usual. Maybe, maybe she'd even be so happy, she'd kiss him. It was dark, so Phil retrieved one Band from his pocket and slipped it over his wrist. Though the walk home seemed leisurely to him, if anyone had been watching, he'd have seemed to have winked out of existence. Musing on his homeward stroll, he imagined how Keely Teslow's arms would feel around him for an hour Friday, and what it would be like to be part of a kiss that seemed to go on and on.


End file.
